the future climbs down my throat
and stops halfway
i can't breathe
lock my door
so i feel alone
on purpose
im crying out but
youve told me all my life
to stop being weak
and that i dont know
what pain is,
but what is this feeling?
—one i'll never speak of
to anyone with extra
letters in their titles
—one i'll never
dial up the exterminator
to deal with
—one i'll probably always
fucking have
even though always is barely tomorrow
one that, according
to you,
im not allowed to feel
the future climbs down my throat
and shoves my screams into
my heart where they
s p l i n t e r.
s h a t t e r.
the future climbs down my throat
and carves my esophagus
with its fingernails
im fucking dying
and thats fucking okay,
okay?
just let me die in peace
maybe then i wont hear your voice
telling me
"christs sake"
when youre the one
who makes me cry
just let me die in peace.
YOU ARE READING
truce » poetry
Poetry❝as if.❞ ⤷in which this isn't poetry but leftover sadness. [poetry] {completed} (#135 in poetry 12/27/17)
